


Dragon Eye

by BitterWheat (BannedBloodOranges)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Afterlife, Ambiguous Relationships, Character Study, Established Relationship, F/F, Implied Unrequited Love, Jealousy, M/M, Onesided Priest Seto/Kisara, Post-Dark Side Of Dimensions, Reconciliation, Slice of Life (of sorts)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BitterWheat
Summary: Like her, so long ago, he has come here to die.
Relationships: Atem/Kaiba Seto, Kisara & Priest Seto, Kisara & Seto Kaiba, Kisara/Mana (Yu-Gi-Oh)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Dragon Eye

**Author's Note:**

> Not so ancient repost of old fic. A drabble written up after old nostalgia was stirred by DSOD.
> 
> Non-profit fun only.

Mana had resumed the form the Pharaoh had known her as, the mischievous childhood friend with the wild hair and wilder eyes, to greet him home. But she's her true form now, the body that Kisara knows so well, had watched so curiously through her Dragon eyes in the years she'd spent serving her Pharaoh. Body and soul of a woman, hair braided and tucked behind her ears, crinkles around her impossibly green eyes. She has magic in her that swells, crackles, fails and rises again, like the river. A characterful, breathing thing, not Kisara's pure white blind of power. 

Kisara is dormant force, pure eradication. Mana struggles along with her power, finding a compromise in her tricks and talents. She is warm, soulful, impulsive, greedy. Hot human hands on Kisara's cold, sterile skin.

For as many were struck dumb by the so-called sleeping power dormant in her soul, Kisara will never stop being equally fascinated by Mana's enormous capacity for care; all of her feckless, flighty love.

* * *

They kiss in the gardens where the Priests cannot see. Mana has sand matted on her lips, and Kisara tastes the aniseed flavour of her dwindling magic.

"He's here," She murmurs between their mouths. "He's finally come through."

Kisara knew he'd breached their eternity, had felt her heart shaking in her ribs at the sink of foreign shoes in the sands.

Kisara kisses her again, tasting away Mana's tangiable grief.

"I know," She whispers back. She would know him anywhere, in any century or atmosphere of life, she hears his breath and the Dragon sleeping within stirs to life. But Mana, in turn, knows _her_ , and nobody can say that of anyone who has ever lived. "He has come here for his duel. Do not worry, Mana."

"I'm not," Mana chokes, burying her head in Kisara's shoulder, tangling her hair in her long fingers. 

It is a world of beauty here, sands as yellow as the sun's peak, balmy days and nights ridden with stars. It becomes too much for feverish Mana. They've ridden past the dimensions of time, sought out new worlds together; castles, forests, violet skies, but no other white dragons. Mana would quite like reincarnation, Kisara thinks, but only if it is a world where they find each other.

* * *

He does not need to seek her, for she is already sought, in battle and devotion and memory. That is all she needs. Their hearts beat in tandem, but now, in new flesh and new lives, so differently, for he has come here to seek another, and she, who knows him so well, can sense the easing agony the closer he embarks to the Palace.

The figure in blue and silver passes through the great, gold doors, and he is so like her, that once upon a time, chilly and pale and mysterious, and the onlookers gawp at the sight of him. 

The tendons in Priest Seto's hands pull and pulse. Kisara is almost tempted to touch his arm, to still his wrath as she had done in the past, but Mana crowds carefully to her side and takes her hands, kissing her knuckles with lips dry and chapped from her tears.

The figure halts before the Pharaoh (whose eyes Kisara always fails to meet. She has seen him too much in battle.)

A silence creeps as they stare at one other, retired warriors finding fire in their shared expectation. In the fascinating quiet there exists a proclamation, a resolution, a promise.

Seto Kaiba readies his desk.

Kisara feels the rumble in her soul. Once again, she defers to the battlefield, her immortal pride and penalty.

Mahado bows his head as the Pharaoh extends the gold plate on his arm. Purple light bruises his body until he is gone from their side, now stood between the Pharaoh and Kaiba, manifested in different skin and armour. 

The look he gives her is almost kind. 

Kisara smiles, closes her eyes.

When she reopens them, her roar announces the beginning of what has been sought for so long. It is both an honour and a sadness.

Priest Seto's fury is tangible. He smirks, rolls his shoulders, all his blessed arrogance on full display. Mana gazes at Kisara, full of fear, and Kisara crooks her enormous Dragonhead in a way incredibly _undragon_ and Mana smiles, just a little, and refuses to meet the Pharaoh imploring glance (she will no longer battle for anyone.)

* * *

"I would choose you," Kisara breathes into Mana's ear. They are wrapped together in the upper rooms, away from the muttering of the Priests and the chambers of the Pharaoh, now haunted by ghosts from the past and future. "The dragon is mine and their's, but my heart, the heart of a woman, is yours."

"I never wanted the Dragon," Mana's wild hair musses around her face, caught between her lips. "I want you."

That promise was once murmured on her grave the first time she had expired her mortal body. Kisara had neither wanted or unwanted it. Her life before had been merely survival, choice a luxury keenly avoided, and she'd fallen so easily to fate it was like she was merely a breaker upon which the river would sweep across. But Mana had chosen her, and Kisara had chosen her back, and it was a destiny she would not lose.

And then, she thinks of fate, and of Seto, and the two halves of her heart, and when she'd scrabbled across the rocks and dunes to reach the golden arch of the Palace in the distance, unknowingly marching to her destiny. How, like her, Kaiba had followed the footfalls of memory, breaking through life itself, to chase the one he so desired. (For her, it was devotion born of gratitude. For him, it was a love born of strife, of grief.)

Like her, so long ago, he has come here to die.


End file.
